


Katarina

by Orinoco_II



Category: Torchwood
Genre: Angst, F/M, Historical, Jack's Wife, M/M, Team Adventure, The story behind that wedding photo, Time Travel, Timey-Wimey, World War I, period drama
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-06
Updated: 2020-07-13
Packaged: 2021-03-01 19:00:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 13,005
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23512015
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Orinoco_II/pseuds/Orinoco_II
Summary: Jack’s past finally catches up with him and he’s desperate to return it to where it belongs.
Relationships: Gwen Cooper/Rhys Williams, Jack Harkness/Ianto Jones, Jack Harkness/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 42
Kudos: 51





	1. Chapter 1

_Penarth, 6 June 1916_

The sea was so calm tonight that the full moon fell as a perfect round disc on its surface. In the bright light it cast, you could see all the way across the Bristol Channel to the undulating silhouette of the North Somerset coast. Stars hung scattered across the dark sky, obscured to the west by a thin wisp of wayward cloud. Half a mile down the coast, the town was sleeping, and even the docks had fallen silent. The only sounds, aside from the gentle caress of the waves on the beach, were coming from the big house.

Beyond the trimmed lawns that sloped down to meet the cliff top; beyond the neat box-hedge maze and the ornamental flower beds, the house stood, flinging warm light over the garden. Animated conversation floated out through the windows, thrown open to let in the cool night air.

In the dining room, Captain Jack Harkness sat at the head of the table in silence, his starched-stiff dress uniform and too-tight collar stifling in the June heat. The temperature and the drone of self-importance were oppressive. Slouched in his seat, he fingered the stem of his wine glass, twisting it round and round between his forefinger and thumb. At the opposite end of the table, Katarina was engaged in a lively exchange with the woman to her left - Lady Something-or-Other - throwing her head back with laughter, her hair catching the light. Jack had an Earl and a Lord either side of him, whose conversation was as stimulating as a cold bath.

Even George was all the way down the other end of the room, pouring wine. Jack followed the young footman with his eyes. As though he could feel Jack’s gaze, George looked up, caught Jack’s stare and gave a small smile, then blushed as he attempted to cover it, stumbling with the wine.

“Be careful George!” Katarina snapped.

“Sorry ma’am.” George dabbed at the tablecloth and wiped the decanter meticulously. Katarina shot a glare up the table at Jack, but he ignored it.

“What news from France Captain Harkness?” John Llewellyn, a bloated, red-faced man in his mid-thirties, was leaning forward three seats down on Jack’s left. His question interrupted Jack’s pleasant perusal of George’s well-tailored suit.

“Perhaps you could go over there and see for yourself,” Jack suggested, with only the hint of a sneer.

“And what use would the Army have for a chap like me?” Llewellyn chuckled. Llewellyn owned a textiles factory that supplied uniforms to the Army. He was doing very well out of the war.

“Plenty,” Jack said. “The Germans are mowing our men down like cattle. It’s hell over there, and we need all the able-bodied men we can find.” Jack stood up, throwing down his napkin. “Excuse me.”

The room had fallen silent; everyone paused with their mouths open and their cutlery mid-air. Jack knew their eyes were on him as he strode out of the room, his boots clipping smartly on the wooden floor. He made straight for the open doors at the back of the house and descended the wide stone steps onto the gravel path. He leant on the low wall that ran above the grassy bank leading down to the lawn and took a deep breath. How could they all sit here, drinking wine and laughing about their fortunes, when he had seen what he had seen in those trenches? He heard footsteps behind him and knew who it would be.

“You didn’t have to be so rude to Mr Llewellyn,” Katarina said softly.

Jack turned and saw her standing on the steps. “Why not? The man’s an idiot.” He straightened up and put his hands on his hips.

Katarina sighed but didn’t argue. She crossed the gravel to stand beside him. “Why do you always have to make a scene?”

“I don’t.” Jack ran a hand over his waxed-solid hair. “But it’s the last night of my leave and I wanted to spend it with you, not with a house full of strangers!” He gestured back towards the dining room they had vacated. The conversations had started back up again.

“They are our friends,” Katarina hissed.

“They’re not _my_ friends,” Jack retorted, and marched off briskly along the path away from her.

“Jack!” she called after him, but he did not stop.

Katarina took a deep breath and held it, staring out across the silvery garden towards the sea. She would not cry. If she cried, her eyes would puff up and everyone inside would know she had been crying. She could not let them know that. She fingered the emerald necklace that hung heavy against her chest and looked up at the imposing grey front of the house. It had been part of her dowry; her father so keen to get her married off to a respectable officer that he had bequeathed the family home upon them and moved himself into the townhouse in Cardiff.

Turning slowly on the gravel, Katarina suddenly spotted a flash of light, away to her left, in the walled garden. She blinked. It was gone. She wondered if Cargill, the doddery old gardener, had left something alight. She walked quickly through the warm night and eased open the old wooden gate, infused with memories of happy childhood days, playing hide and seek with Harry Cargill. Harry had gone off to war a year ago and never come back.

There was a dark-haired woman sprawled on the ground under the cherry tree, groaning. She got very slowly to her feet, dusting off her strange, tight-fitting clothes. Katarina stared at her. The woman stared back with wide eyes.

“Mrs Harkness,” the woman said eventually. “You need to come with me.”


	2. Chapter 2

_Cardiff, November 2008_

Ianto Jones waited patiently for the coffee machine to finish, listening to Gwen and Jack exchanging banter across the Hub behind him. He liked to take these moments of calm when he could. Jack had given up trying to work out what the object they’d picked up in a children’s playground was and was wielding it around like a lightsaber. Gwen was sitting at her desk and musing on the possibility of it being some form of alien sex toy.

“It’s two foot long!” Jack called back, sweeping it in a wide arc over his head, narrowly missing bringing down a redundant fire exit sign on the wall above him.

“So?” Gwen countered. “There’re aliens out there with considerably larger appendages than you, Captain.”

“And don’t I know it,” Jack laughed. “I’m just saying that _this_ -" Jack stopped wielding and held the smooth cylinder of unknown material between his two index fingers, “- is not a dildo.”

Ianto set down one mug in front of Gwen and carried another over to Jack. “Even with your impressive libido Jack,” he noted. “I’m sure you haven’t encountered _every_ sex toy in the galaxy.”

Gwen snorted. Jack put the object down and took his coffee, meeting Ianto’s eyes over the rim of his mug with that familiar small, happy laugh that he reserved for times when Ianto had taken a justified crack at him and he didn’t mind one bit. An insistent beeping from Gwen’s computer cut off any further conjecture on the purpose of the object.

“Rift alert,” she announced. “Penarth seafront.”

Ianto sighed. One of these days he was going to get to finish his morning coffee.

*

Penarth seafront on a Tuesday morning in November was largely deserted. The shops and fish and chips stands and amusement arcades were shut. No one was using the beach huts. A cold wind whistled around the pier and whipped the sea into frothy grey peaks. Jack swerved the SUV past a ‘No Vehicular Access’ sign and screeched to a halt.

“I’m not getting any signs of life,” Ianto said, consulting the scanner in his hand. Jack and Gwen walked ahead of him, weapons already drawn.

“Not more bombs I hope,” Gwen muttered.

“A few more metres,” Ianto told them.

“I don’t see anything.”

“Hang on Jack.” Gwen nudged him, and nodded to the elderly couple, sitting resolutely on their deckchairs, matching overcoats done up to their chins and a Thermos of tea between them.

“Are they the aliens?” Jack asked in a stage whisper.

Ianto rolled his eyes and hoped the wind and poor hearing would drown Jack out. “No, they’re human.” He consulted the scanner again. “It’s here.” They had come to a stop in front of a pink and white striped beach hut that, like most of Penarth, had seen better days.

“Where?”

They turned to look at Ianto. He shrugged. Jack frowned. Gwen started to comb the ground, pushing aside tufts of grass growing through the cracks in the asphalt with the toe of her Converse.

“There – look!”

Gwen pointed into the gap under the beach hut. Just visible was a metal chain. Jack knelt down and pulled it out. A large, heavy emerald hung from it, twisting round and round as the chain unwound its tangles.

“Nice,” Gwen commented. “The Rift’s chucking expensive jewellery at us now – I could get used to that.”

Jack was squinting at the necklace with that look on his face; the look that indicated he was dredging through his extensive memory bank. “I’m sure I’ve seen this before,” he said eventually. Then, in a flash, his face cleared. “Oh well, let’s get it back to the Hub.”

Jack dropped the emerald into his palm, closed his fist around it and vanished.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay in updating - turns out working-from-home takes almost as much time as working-from-work?!

“Where the hell could he have gone?” Gwen asked, for about the fifteenth time since Jack had disappeared.

She and Ianto had alternated between anguished waiting and frantic searching along Penarth seafront for the first hour after Jack had vanished before deciding to drive back to the Hub and look for clues there.

Ianto logged into his computer and ignored her. He wasn’t in the mood for small talk. His hands moved automatically over his keyboard, as he burrowed into systems and processes to quell the panic rearing in his chest when he considered the myriad of possible answers to Gwen’s question. “Maybe there’s some software here that can help us trace him.”

Gwen sat down beside him, fingers drumming deafeningly on the desk as she waited for her own computer to load up. “What if he’s stuck in the Rift somewhere?” she wondered out loud.

Ianto took a deep breath and held it behind his pursed lips whilst he considered his response. Gwen was only thinking aloud, coping in the best way she knew how, and Ianto punching her in the face would not help the situation. “Trying not to think about that possibility thanks Gwen,” he muttered eventually, through clenched teeth.

*

Three hours later on Penarth seafront, there was a blinding flash of light and Jack suddenly reappeared. He stumbled forward, scanning the empty promenade and grey, windswept beach in confusion. His confusion faded to irritation when he clocked the empty space where the SUV had been parked.

Four hours later, Jack stomped into the Hub, threw his coat down on the sofa and glared at his co-workers. “Nice of you to wait for me,” he grumbled.

“Jack!” He found himself propelled backwards as Gwen collided with him.

“Woah,” Jack laughed, holding Gwen at arm’s length. “How long was I gone?”

Ianto appeared behind her, a tight smile on his face as he busied himself picking up and straightening Jack’s coat. “Five hours, give or take.” He hung it up on the coat stand and spent more time than was strictly necessary on smoothing out its folds.

“Guess I jumped into the future then,” Jack mused.

“How?” Gwen asked.

“This.” Jack extracted the necklace carefully from his pocket and held it up. The smooth, oval emerald glistened a deep, hypnotic green in the low lights of the Hub. “It’s a crude time travel device.” Gwen reached towards it. “No!” Jack yelled, pulling it out of her reach. “Don’t touch it. That’s what activates it.” He lowered it gingerly down on to a work top. “We need to find some way of deactivating it.”

Any further discussion was cut off by the Rift alarm. Ianto was over at his computer in a flash. “Weevils on the High Street,” he announced, reading off the screen. The sentence was barely out of his mouth when another Rift alarm began chiming in harmony with the other. “Rift flare in Bute Park,” he read.

“Ianto and I will take the weevil,” Jack decided, reaching for his coat. “Gwen - you check out the park.”

Like a well-oiled, if somewhat weary machine, they were all out of the Hub in less than two minutes, leaving the necklace abandoned on the work top.

*

Whatever Jack claimed, Ianto found being naked in the Hub more on the uncomfortable end of the arousal scale than the thrilling. This had seemed like a quick job when he’d just nipped out of Jack’s office but now he was bent over, hunting through the pockets of his abandoned trousers, he felt decidedly chilly and exposed.

He heard footsteps behind him. Honestly, that man had no patience. “Alright, keep your hair on,” Ianto said. “I’ve found them.”

Someone cleared their throat. Someone that was definitely not Jack.

Ianto whirled round to find Gwen and a strange woman in Edwardian ruffles behind him. He yelped, threw the box of ribbed condoms in the air and grabbed a folder off a nearby desk to cover his modesty.

“Jack!” Ianto yelled. “Put some clothes on and get down here!”

If he’d been cold a moment ago, Ianto was certainly warm now. Apparently, it was possible to blush all over your body. He stood motionless, fingers clutching tightly at the folder, and stared into the middle distance. Gwen regarded him with raised eyebrows and her lips pressed together to suppress laughter. The woman said nothing.

After several long agonising moments, Jack appeared, with trousers on at least, his feet bare, braces dangling and shirt open. He plodded casually down the steps from his office, a glib comment dying on his lips as he saw the woman standing beside Gwen. His mouth dropped open in shock and he froze, staring at her.

“You haven’t changed,” the woman remarked in a clipped Welsh accent.

“We have to go downstairs,” Gwen told them, before Jack had a chance to respond. “I didn’t see myself.”

Jack blinked, forcing his attention onto Gwen. “What?” he asked.

“You’re going to call me in soon and I didn’t see myself when I got here,” Gwen explained.

Jack shook his head, as though trying to clear the fog of sleep. “I…don’t understand,” he stammered.

Gwen held up a familiar emerald necklace. “I’m from the future,” she said.


	4. Chapter 4

As Gwen escorted the woman downstairs, Ianto found his way into his clothes quicker than he had when Lauren Newman’s mum had knocked on her bedroom door when they were fifteen-years-old. Jack made a half-hearted effort to button his shirt and they both followed the women down to the interrogation room.

“What time is it?” Gwen asked.

Ianto checked his watch. “Twenty-five past eleven.”

Gwen nodded. “11.30. That’s when I got the call. From Jack.”

Jack put his hands on his hips and frowned. He was avoiding looking at the woman, Ianto noted. He knew from experience that Jack hated being a prisoner of predetermined actions. Paradoxes waiting to happen, he always said. “Guess I’d better call you then,” Jack said flatly, turning and leaving the room.

Ianto adjusted his hastily knotted tie with a tight smile at Gwen and their visitor and followed him. He found Jack at his desk, phone clamped between his ear and his shoulder as he pulled on his socks. Hands in pockets, Ianto leant up against the doorframe.

“Gwen,” Jack said into the phone. “I need you at the Hub.” There was a pause. “Yes, now.” He sighed. “Yes, I know what time it is. It’s important.” He sat up and winced, holding the phone away from his ear. Even from the doorway, Ianto could hear Gwen’s tinny rant on the other end. Jack waited for her to run out of steam, before bringing the phone back to his ear. “Great. See you soon.” He hung up and tossed his phone onto his desk. He grabbed his boots, pulled them on and began to lace them.

“Who is she Jack?” Ianto asked quietly.

“My wife,” Jack replied, without looking up from his boots.

*

By the time Gwen arrived at the Hub, Jack was fully dressed. She looked dishevelled and distinctly pissed off so Ianto busied himself preparing coffee.

“What the hell is going on?” she demanded, marching up to Jack.

Jack put his hands calmly into his pockets, adopting his hardnosed, enigmatic boss persona. God, Ianto hated that face. “There’s a future version of you sitting downstairs,” Jack told her. “It has something to do with the necklace we found earlier and my wife.”

A baffled silence fell over the Hub, punctuated only by the hissing of the coffee machine. Gwen tilted her head in comical confusion. “…What?”

“My wife is downstairs with a future version of you,” Jack repeated, seemingly not seeing the funny side. “Apparently, you both time-travelled using the necklace. Why, we have yet to find out.” Without further explanation, he stalked away, up the stairs and into his office.

Gwen turned to Ianto expectantly. All he could provide her with was a nonplussed shrug and a cup of coffee.

*

For want of anything better to do, Ianto decided to research the necklace. Research, after all, was his forte. Gwen was sitting on the sofa scowling into her cup of coffee. Jack was brooding in his office. And Jack’s wife…she was still downstairs with the other Gwen. Ianto resisted shooting too many glances up at Jack’s office. Instead, his eyes strayed to the emerald necklace, lying innocuously on the work surface where Jack had left it earlier. For some reason, he kept reaching towards it before reminding himself not to. It was late and he was tired, he reasoned, as he withdrew his hand for the fifth time. An antiques dealer who had helped them with enquiries like this in the past had provided Ianto with a catalogue of the world’s most valuable jewels so he opened the document and scanned the section on emeralds.

There it was. Same shape. Same deep, mesmerising green. The Emerald of Armant.

It wasn’t difficult for Ianto to compile a potted history of the emerald. It was believed to have been mined by the Romans in Egypt around AD24 and subsequently buried in the desert until it was unearthed by amateur archaeologist Edward Rhodes in 1893. Rhodes had had the jewel made into necklace and gifted it to his wife, Russian ballerina Amelia Rhodes, nee Kuznetsova. Upon her death, in 1903, the necklace had been bequeathed upon her daughter, Katarina Rhodes, the last known owner. The current whereabouts of the emerald, according to the entry in Ianto’s catalogue, was unknown.

Mouth dry and heart pounding, Ianto slowly typed the name Katarina Rhodes into the Torchwood search engine. Rhodes had, of course, been her maiden name. Katarina Harkness had disappeared on 6 June 1916.

*

Gwen sat opposite Jack’s wife in awkward silence. Gwen generally felt herself compelled to fill awkward silences, as Ianto would attest, but right now she couldn’t think of a single thing to say that didn’t sound wildly inappropriate or insensitive. She’d never noticed that you could hear the hum of the Rift manipulator down her. She even thought she might be able to hear her watch ticking.

“What year is this?” Katarina asked.

Her question made Gwen jump. She lowered her wrist from her ear and cleared her throat. “2008.”

Katarina narrowed her eyes and considered Gwen’s answer. She was an attractive woman, Gwen observed, with high cheekbones and an impossibly narrow waist. Her manner was refined and everything about her seemed at odds with Captain Jack Harkness, bombastic leader of Torchwood Three. “How is that possible?” she asked eventually. “It was 1916.”

“We travelled through time,” Gwen explained. There was no easy way to ease someone into that conversation.

“How is it that you have my mother’s necklace?” Katarina asked, after another moment of consideration. She was remarkably composed; all Edwardian repression, Gwen supposed.

“It fell through a crack in time,” Gwen told her.

“And is that how my husband came to be here too?”

“No.” Gwen shook her head, realising that she was not the one who should be having this conversation with her. “Jack…he…came the long way round.”

Katarina frowned. “What does that mean?”

Gwen opened and closed her mouth several times. “I think you should talk to Jack about that,” she said.

*

Gwen couldn’t help but admire Ianto’s attempt to present his findings as dispassionately as if it had been a run-of-the-mill Torchwood investigation and not one that could potentially turn his world upside down. As he spoke, his eyes occasionally flickered in Jack’s direction but Jack’s expression was blank and unreadable as he slouched in his usual seat at the head of the conference room table. If Ianto stumbled and stammered over his words a little more than usual, Gwen was polite enough not to mention it.

“That’s not true,” Jack stated abruptly when Ianto had finished speaking. “She didn’t disappear that night. I’d remember it.”

“Were you there?” Gwen asked.

Jack was tugging at his bottom lip, his frown dragging his brow down so low it looked painful. He was glaring at the table top in front of him as though it was responsible for this whole mess. “Yes. I know I was.”

“Well, can’t I tell us what to do?” Gwen asked. “The me downstairs, I mean?”

Jack shook his head, still staring into the table. “You can’t or you won’t. You keep saying we have to work it out for ourselves.”

Gwen growled and pulled a face. “I’m gonna kill future me.”

Ianto gave a small cough to remind them that he was still standing awkwardly at the far end of the table. “Well, I don’t know if this is a clue, but we do have two necklaces now,” he said.

Jack looked up at him as though he’d forgotten he was there. “What?”

Ianto gave a small shrug. “Gwen has one downstairs, and we have one up here,” he reminded them, nodding towards the necklace in the centre of the table.

“I don’t know where that gets us,” Jack said and even Gwen recoiled at his curt tone. His chair scraped painfully over the floor as he pushed it back and marched out of the room. Ianto blew out his cheeks, shook his head at Gwen and followed him.

Gwen rested her elbows on the table and ground her knuckles into her cheek. She was too tired for Jack being his usual inscrutable self. Her eyes strayed across the table to the necklace. She found herself unable to look away. She watched curiously as her hand stretched out towards it. Her fingers touched the cool stone and, in a flash, she was gone.


	5. Chapter 5

_Penarth, 1899_

Pins and needles. That was the first thing that Gwen became conscious of. Pins and needles all over her body. She stumbled forward into a dark room that smelt strongly of wood smoke and grabbed a bedpost to steady herself. Her head was throbbing and she felt nauseous. Dim lamps revealed that the bed was resting against an oak-panelled wall. A fire flickered in the cast iron grate and a doll’s house sat on the floor in the corner, beside an enormous, intricately decorated wardrobe.

There was a girl in the room too, sitting on a stool at the dressing table. Her hair was in ringlets and she wore a pale dress pulled in at the waist and tied with a bow at the back. A large jewellery box lay open on the dressing table in front of her and a sumptuous earring dangled from either hand. She turned in surprise to stare at Gwen.

“Who are you?” the girl asked indignantly. “Why are you in my room?”

This wasn’t right. Somehow, Gwen knew it. She took a deep breath, clasped her hand around the necklace and felt the shuddering sensation ripple through her again.

The pain behind her eyes grew worse as she found herself tumbling onto cold grass. Rolling onto all fours and fighting the urge to vomit, Gwen lifted her head to take in her surroundings. She was under a tree in some kind of walled garden, with a neatly manicured lawn. Somewhere in the distance, laughter and conversation floated on the warm night air.

*

_Cardiff, November 2008_

Ianto had long since given up trying to sneak up on Jack. He knew that Jack had heard him coming up the stairs at the back of his office but he made no move to acknowledge Ianto. He just kept staring blankly ahead, his legs stretched out in front of him.

Ianto stepped up behind him and rested his hands on Jack’s shoulders. “Hey.”

“Hey,” Jack replied softly.

Ianto pushed his nose into Jack’s hair and breathed in. He pressed a kiss to the top of Jack’s head and rested his chin there. “You don’t have to talk if you don’t want to but I thought you’d probably have disappeared onto a roof if that was the case.” He came round to perch on the edge of Jack’s desk.

Jack sighed and reached out to take Ianto’s hand. “It’s difficult…”

Ianto rubbed his thumb gently over the back of Jack’s hand. “I can handle difficult, you know,” he said.

*

_Cardiff, 1912_

When Jack had been a Time Agent, he had loved a good society ball. He would breeze in, pick out the prettiest girls and boys, and zap back to the 51st century when he was done. Now he had to live through it all, he could think of little else so tedious. Still, he reasoned, in a couple of years, all this archaic social structure would be shattered beyond recognition.

He tugged at the collar of his dress uniform, trying to concentrate on the conversation that Rackham and Beresford had dragged him into and not let his eyes stray too often to the couples waltzing past behind him. Dancing seemed like more fun than a discussion with two moustachioed bores.

“And what do you make of all the war mongering in Europe?” one of them boomed. Lord Talbot: MP for one of the Cardiff constituencies. A Tory, of course, and every inch the stereotype of landed gentry.

“They’re all spoiling for war,” Rackham declared confidently. Captain Frederick Rackham was the sort of man who had your back on a battlefield but would cheat you at cards in the mess as soon as he got the chance. He sported a chest full of medals and buckles and buttons that gleamed to match the predatory glint in his eye.

“But what can be gained from it?” the other man asked. Edward Rhodes was softly spoken and had a more thoughtful air to his middle-aged features than his friend.

“A great deal,” Rackham asserted.

Jack’s eye was caught by a young lady approaching the group. She hovered behind Rackham, listening in to their conversation. Jack found himself staring. She was beautiful, undoubtedly, but there was something else – a keen intelligence in her eyes – that struck him instantly.

“Yet I fear the Austrians and the Germans will find themselves sorely outgunned by the British,” Sergeant Beresford added. Charlie Beresford was the closest thing Jack had to a friend in the army; a great drinking companion and wingman but not a man you’d bare your soul to.

“And what do you think Captain Harkness?” Lord Talbot turned to Jack.

Jack dragged his attention back to the conversation and gave the stock answer he always supplied when the matter of war was discussed. “I think it’s best to let events take whatever course they may,” he recited.

“A very diplomatic answer indeed,” Rhodes observed with a genial smile. He suddenly spotted the young lady over Rackham’s shoulder. “Ah, Katarina my dear,” he beamed. “Allow me to introduce you. Gentlemen – this is my daughter Katarina. Lord Talbot you know of course.”

Katarina gave a polite smile and Lord Talbot bowed his head. “A pleasure to see you again Miss Rhodes.”

“And this is Captain Rackham, Captain Harkness and Sergeant Beresford,” Rhodes continued, sweeping an arm around the gathered officers. “Recently returned from service in India. All acquitted themselves rather well, I understand.”

“Colonial soldiers,” she noted coldly. “I see.”

“Guilty as charged I’m afraid Miss Rhodes,” admitted Rackham, with his playboy grin. “But of course, none of us did as well as Harkness here, I’m afraid.” He slapped Jack heartily on the shoulder. “He is certain to out-swagger us all.”

Katarina tilted her head and regarded Jack through narrowed eyes. “Is that so?” she enquired.

Jack merely grinned back at her, dazzled and entirely helpless. “Would you care to dance, Miss Rhodes?” he asked.

She frowned and lowered her eyes to her clasped hands, but her father gave her a small push forward with a few murmured words of encouragement. He, of course, did not want her to embarrass him in front of Lord Talbot and the officers. Reluctantly, she took Jack’s outstretched hand and allowed him to lead her onto the dancefloor. Dancing had become a little less prescriptive in the last few years, for which Jack was thankful, though he noted that Katarina pulled back as far from him as was possible in a ballroom hold.

“Where in India were you posted Captain Harkness?” she asked, still regarding him suspiciously.

“Lahore,” Jack replied.

“I am not sure that I am entirely comfortable with the way that our Empire treats our colonial natives,” she informed him frostily.

Jack raised an eyebrow. “Is that so?”

“Yes.”

“Quite an unusual point of view,” he observed.

“And yet I hold it,” she retorted. “So if I seem disdainful, it is not personal. I merely disapprove of everything you stand for Captain Harkness.”

“And what makes you think I approve of our military activities in the colonies?” Jack asked.

“Surely that’s treasonous Captain?” she enquired.

Jack leant in close. “I won’t tell if you won’t,” he murmured.

The music reached its concluding chord and Katarina stepped back immediately, politely applauding the musicians and avoiding Jack’s eye. But he swore he saw a blush on her cheeks as he led her back to her father.

*

Another weekend, another ball. Jack would be glad when they got their next posting and could forgo all this nonsense. He and Beresford were loitering by the punchbowl when Jack spotted Katarina Rhodes on the other side of the room, sitting demurely with a group of young ladies.

“Sorry Beresford,” Jack said, putting down his glass and clapping his friend on the shoulder. “I’ve got a little unfinished business to attend to.”

Charlie followed Jack’s gaze across the ballroom. “Ah. Got your eye on a new conquest, Harkness?”

“Something like that,” Jack agreed. He threaded his way around the outside of the ballroom until he reached the group of ladies. “Miss Rhodes – how lovely to see you again.”

“Captain Harkness.”

Katarina’s companions were looking at Jack with interest. “I wondered if you would be interested in helping me practice my waltz again?” he suggested, with a blinding smile.

She made a few furtive glances around the room before standing, smoothing down her dress and straightening her spine. “I could be persuaded.”

Taking Jack’s hand, she followed him onto the dancefloor. When they took their positions this time, he noticed that she held him just a little closer.

“Is your father here tonight?” Jack asked, to make conversation.

“Should he be?”

“I thought a young lady must always have a chaperone,” Jack replied.

“I am here with my aunt,” Katarina revealed. “But we’ve given her the slip.”

“Why do I get the feeling that’s something you’re pretty accomplished at?” Jack asked teasingly.

“I really don’t know what you’re implying,” Katarina replied tartly. But Jack caught the twinkle in her eye as he whisked her round and round to the mesmerising strains of a Viennese waltz. He could almost kid himself he was having a good time.

*

Major Dunsford’s wife had persuaded him that a regimental picnic for the officers and local families of good standing would be an excellent idea and, for once, the Welsh weather had been kind to them. It was strange, Jack thought, that now he had all the time in the universe to spare, he had become so impatient. This slow pace of life was driving him insane.

There were rumours that his company would be sent back to India soon and, looking at the spread of officers sprawled out on the grassy banks of Bute Park, Jack felt it couldn’t come soon enough. If he was doing something, this endless waiting for the Doctor went a little quicker. He was so desperate for something – anything – to happen that he was even considering crawling back to Torchwood again, to see if they had any assignments they could throw his way.

Jack leant up against a tree and bit into an apple, watching with amusement Beresford’s attempt to flirt with some prissy young thing who was so pale this might have been her first time outdoors. In another time, Jack might have been sleeping with Charlie Beresford. But he had learned the hard way when to keep his sexual inclinations in check.

Lost in his thoughts, Jack almost missed her. A vision in a white dress, parasol over one shoulder, clasping the arm of her father. Jack tossed his apple core into a nearby bush and half jogged down to meet her on the path.

“Captain Harkness!” Katarina gasped when he suddenly appeared in front of them. Jack supposed that her red cheeks could have been due to the strength of the afternoon sun.

“Miss Rhodes.” Jack dipped his head in greeting. “Mr Rhodes.”

“Good to see you again, Captain Harkness,” Rhodes greeted him. “Enjoying this unseasonably warm weather, I see.”

“Indeed,” Jack agreed. “Beautiful day for a walk.”

“My daughter seems to think so,” Rhodes says. “I’m not convinced myself.”

“Papa, you need the exercise,” Katarina scolded tenderly.

“And I think I’ve had quite enough for today,” her father told her, patting her hand. He pointed with his walking stick to a group of officers seated in the shade of a tree on the grass. “I do believe that’s Colonel Lawlor up there. Perhaps you could satisfy my daughter’s craving for walking, Captain?”

“I’d be happy to,” Jack assured him.

As Rhodes departed to join the officers, Jack and Katarina began to stroll on along the gravel path.

“That worked out well for you,” Katarina observed and Jack recognised her teasing tone.

“And for you,” he countered.

“Your accent is very strange, Captain Harkness,” she said after a moment walking in silence.

“American,” Jack explained, since he had now learnt that the accent he’d grown up with on a desert world in another galaxy several thousand years from now was commonly assumed to be American.

“You were born there?”

“I was.”

“And yet you serve in the British Army?”

“I’m a complicated guy.”

“So it would seem.”

“And you’re a complicated woman,” Jack stated.

“What makes you say that?”

“You have independent thought.”

“You believe women incapable of independent thought?”

Jack laughed, realising how she had backed him into a corner. “No, no. I mean…society right now tells women to look pretty and shut up. You don’t care about that. I like that.”

They had reached the lake and came to a halt, standing by the railings and watching the ducks paddling in lazy circles on the still water. Two drakes began to fight over a female and splashed their way through a patch of lily pads in a tumble of quacking and turbulence.

“I should like to see more of you Captain Harkness,” Katarina stated boldly when the noise had subsided.

“Yeah?” Jack laughed. “I’d like to see more of you too, Miss Rhodes.”

*

_Penarth, 1912_

Edward Rhodes watched from the window as his daughter walked across the lawn, deep in conversation with Captain Harkness. He had to admit that she had never seemed happier than she had in the last few weeks. The Captain was a handsome man, if a few years her senior, and seemed courteous enough. Katarina threw back her head and laughed at something the Captain had said. Rhodes hadn’t seen her laugh like that since her mother died.

Colonel Lawlor, his old school friend, stood beside him, drinking a cup of tea.

“What do you know of this Captain Harkness?” Rhodes asked him, gesturing with his own cup out through the window to the garden.

Lawlor settled his teacup back down on the saucer. “Not much,” he admitted.

“He seems rather attached to my daughter,” Rhodes observed.

“Does she feel similarly?” Lawlor enquired.

“Women are so hard to read,” Rhodes declared with a sigh. “Do you think he would be a suitable match?”

Lawlor took another sip of his tea. “Harkness has no family but he does have good prospects as an officer,” Lawlor acknowledged. “He had an outstanding military record in India and has a comfortable income.”

Rhodes turned back to the scene in the garden. Katarina was laughing again. “She could do worse,” he agreed.

*

There was still no news of the company’s departure and Jack found himself increasingly relieved by that fact. He had, moreover, been contemplating more seriously resigning his commission and re-joining Torchwood. He’d miss the uniform but the job would be based in Cardiff and he’d become somewhat attached to visiting a certain house on the clifftops outside Penarth.

This morning, he was shown into the drawing room where Katarina was waiting alone. She stood when he entered the room.

“My aunt is unwell this morning,” she told him. “I’m not sure where my father is.”

“I was just out for a ride and thought I’d pop in,” Jack told her.

“Again?”

“Again,” he confirmed with a grin.

“I presume you have heard of the motorcar, Captain?”

“Horseback’s sexier,” Jack said with a wink, stepping closer.

“I beg your pardon?”

Jack shook his head. “Never mind.”

Katarina took a step closer to him. “Your horse seems to require a prodigious amount of exercise.”

“She does,” Jack agreed, with mock seriousness. “She really does.”

They were mere inches apart now. As Jack took hold of one of her hands, a blush began to spread up Katarina’s neck. Her skin felt so soft and her face so small beneath his palm as he cupped her cheek and bent down to kiss her. Jack felt the sharp intake of breath and then her lips began to move against his.

They heard the door open behind them but sprang apart a second too late. Katarina stepped away from Jack, the flush on her cheeks deepening. Jack opened his mouth to speak but Rhodes cut him off.

“Oh, this is wonderful news!” Rhodes announced delightedly, striding across the room and vigorously pumping Jack’s hand. “I must admit, we were all wondering when you were going to propose. Of course, it goes without saying that I heartily consent.” He turned to his daughter, grasping her hands in his and kissing her on the forehead. “This calls for a drink.”

Without meeting Jack’s eye, Katarina sat down stiffly on the opposite side of the room, keeping her eyes steadfastly downcast into her lap. Jack couldn’t seem to find his voice as he accepted the glass of brandy that was pressed into his hand by Rhodes. What on earth was he supposed to do now?

*

It was some time later before Jack managed to get Katarina alone again. He extracted himself from Rhodes’ enthusiastic hospitality and found her in the library, hovering by the mantelpiece in the half-light of a standard lamp. He shut the door behind him and hurried across to her.

“I am so sorry about earlier,” he blurted, and tried to take her hand.

She whipped her hand away. “Why have you never asked me to marry you?” she asked.

Jack gaped at her. How had this all escalated so quickly? One minute he was having fun with a beautiful woman he was very fond of; the next they were engaged and her father – his future _father-in-law_ – was contacting lawyers and trying to give Jack his house.

“I was scared of my feelings,” Jack plumped for eventually. “I was scared of being married.”

He winced at the physical pain that flashed across Katarina’s. features. The hurt glistened behind her eyes before she tore her gaze away, took a deep, controlling breath and marched towards the door.

Jack darted after her and grabbed her hand. “Wait.” He dropped down onto one knee. “Marry me. Please?”

There was almost enough time for Jack to take it back. To leap up and run for the hills. It wouldn’t be the first time in his life he’d had to reinvent himself to escape an obligation he didn’t fancy. Love ‘em and leave ‘em – wasn’t that the Jack Harkness way?

But something made him wait, on one knee, gazing hopefully up at her. “Yes,” she said eventually, a smiled beginning to creep across her face. “Yes.”

Jack stood and pulled her into a kiss. This time, there was no hesitation.

*

_Penarth, 6 June 1916_

Gwen heard footsteps on gravel and twisted to see a woman approaching. It was her. The woman she’d seen sitting opposite herself in the interrogation room. It was then that Gwen realised. This was her way back home. It had already happened. She had seen her own future. She shook her head. Time loops. No wonder Jack hated them.

Gwen dragged herself to her feet and dusted herself down. “Mrs Harkness,” she greeted the woman. “You need to come with me.”

Jack’s wife came to a halt on the gravel a few feet away and frowned. “Who are you?” she asked.

“My name is Gwen Cooper,” Gwen told her. “I work with your husband. I need you to come with me.”

She didn’t move, regarding Gwen warily. “I’ve seen you before,” Katarina said.

Gwen took a step towards her. “We haven’t got much time.”

“You were in my bedroom when I was a child,” Katarina recalled suspiciously. “Who are you?”

“I will explain but you need to come with me,” Gwen assured her.

Without waiting for further discussion, Gwen grabbed Katarina’s hand and activated the necklace. A few nauseating seconds later, the Hub faded into view. They had arrived in a side corridor and the Hub was in darkness but Gwen knew that didn’t mean it was empty. Katarina was clutching her stomach and had a hand pressed to her forehead but she staggered after Gwen into the workstation area.

Gwen stopped short at the sight that confronted her: Ianto, crouching naked over his abandoned trousers. She cleared her throat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Yes, I know I stole a line from 'Pride & Prejudice'. I couldn't resist.)


	6. Chapter 6

_Cardiff, November 2008_

Now that one Gwen had disappeared, they had deemed it safe to allow the other Gwen out and about in the Hub. It was gone one in the morning and she and Ianto had migrated to the sofa, exhausted and unsure how to proceed. Ianto hadn’t seen Jack since their chat so he’d either holed himself up somewhere in the Hub or was out prowling the streets. Still, at least he’d opened up a little before he disappeared this time.

“I never thought Jack would ever get married,” Gwen said, after a few minutes of weary introspection.

Ianto leant back into the sagging old cushions. “Jack’s full of surprises,” he observed wryly.

Gwen turned her head to look at him. “Did you think Jack was the marrying kind?” she asked.

Ianto tipped his head over the back of the cushions and stared up into the cavernous ceiling of the Hub. “I don’t think he’ll ever get married again, if that’s what you mean,” he responded eventually.

Gwen joined him in contemplating the roof. “Why not?”

“It was a different time,” Ianto mused. “Society expected different things.”

Gwen mulled that over for a moment. “Did you know?” she asked.

“That he was married?”

“Yeah.”

Ianto gave his head a small shake, rolling it gently back and forth on the cushions, his hands clasped over his stomach. “Nope.”

“You seem very calm about it,” Gwen observed.

Ianto raised a curious eyebrow. “Why shouldn’t I be?” He turned to look at her. “It was a hundred years ago. If I can cope with having a boyfriend who’s been alive for over a hundred years, the odd ex-wife shouldn’t faze me.”

“I thought he might have told you.”

“I suspect there’s an awful lot about Jack that he hasn’t told me,” Ianto noted.

“And that doesn’t bug you?” Gwen queried. “Being with someone who keeps so many secrets?”

Ianto huffed quietly. “I prefer to keep the lid screwed nice and tightly on that can of worms.” He stood up and rolled his stiff shoulders. “I don’t think there’s much more we can do tonight. I’ll go and make our guest comfortable. You get home.”

“Yeah, thanks.” Gwen stood up too, yawning and stretching her arms above her head. She shook her head, still incredulous. “I can’t believe he was married,” she murmured, as she reached for her jacket.

*

Despite the provision of an uncomfortable folding bed, stiff sheets and a pillow that smelt suspiciously of her husband, Katarina had not slept well. She wasn’t fool enough not to suspect that the mirror on the wall above her was some form of window into the damp and dingy room she had been confined to. She ought to protest against being kept prisoner, though she knew the door was not locked and she was at liberty to come and go throughout this strange place as she pleased. It was somehow more reassuring to stay within the one room she was now familiar with.

There was a soft knock on the door. She sat up on the edge of the bed, posture correct as she had been taught at school, and smoothed her hands over her now rumpled dress. “Enter.”

The door swung open and the man she assumed to be her husband’s lover entered, carrying a breakfast tray. He gave her a small smile as he placed the tray on the table. She watched him set out the plate of toast and jar of jam; watched his long, slender fingers, so reminiscent…

_Of that afternoon, just three months after their wedding. Strange noises coming from the back stairs and, in her innocence, a sight she had not been prepared for. Her husband and the footman, rutting against the wall, panting and moaning, their hands working furiously. Hot tears welling in her eyes as she left unseen, never to speak of it, though the silent shame and disgust burned constantly within her._

She dragged herself back to the present where the man was pouring her tea. Her eyes were drawn again to his hands as he set the teapot back down on the tray. She knew where those hands had been. A strange fury and revulsion churned in her stomach.

“Is there anything else I can get you?” he asked.

She could only shake her head and remain sitting stiffly on the edge of the bed until he had left the room.

*

Gwen looked as tired as Ianto felt. He had spent most of his short time in bed torturing himself with endless questions and trying not to wonder where Jack might be. Hearing footsteps around four am, Ianto had rolled onto his side and been feigning sleep when Jack briefly stuck his head into the bunker under his office. He’d given up on sleep or Jack at five thirty and had only just showered and dressed when Gwen had arrived, several hours earlier than usual, with a bag of pastries that were now sitting untouched on the conference room table.

Even Jack looked tired, Ianto thought, stealing yet another glance at him. Whatever he tried to tell people, Ianto had irrefutable evidence that Jack did need sleep. He only avoided it on nights he was afraid of bad dreams.

It was Jack who broke the uncomfortable silence that had fallen over the table. “She has to get back to that party,” he insisted, massaging his temple with fingers and thumb.

“The article said she went missing,” Ianto reminded him quietly, rubbing at his neck which was stiff from a night with no pillow.

“She didn’t,” Jack maintained. “I’m telling you. We need to fix this. She has to go back.”

“How?” Gwen asked.

Jack sighed a little helplessly and looked up at them both from under the hand that was still at his brow. “We have to use the necklace to take her back to the right place,” he said.

*

_France, 30 June 1916_

The Major’s words echoed through Jack’s head as he made his way back through the trenches to his quarters. _We will march on through the enemy lines and we will not stop until we reach Berlin!_ The words had seemed ridiculous enough when written in the black and white of history books; how much more absurd they seemed now Jack was living through it. As he traversed the board walks across the quagmires that were finally drying out in the heat of the French summer, he nodded to the men in his unit who, having received their orders, were applying a little liquid courage.

Jack ducked through the low, wonky makeshift doorway to the small room that had been dug back into the mud for him. A private room – even one with grimy water dripping down the walls, a tin roof and complementary rats – seemed a luxury Jack didn’t deserve.

Sitting down behind the upturned crate that served as his desk, he sunk his head into his hands, glad to finally be alone. There was only so long he could keep up the positive façade with his men when he knew what was coming tomorrow. He lit the stub of the candle beside him, took out a piece of paper and began to write, the heavy fountain pen scratching noisily across the page.

_Dear Katarina…_

Jack paused, tapping his pen against his lips. He stared at the wall in front of him, as though the right words would magically appear upon it. His painful reverie was interrupted by a smart rapping on the doorframe.

“Yes?”

A young private entered. “Message from Major Dunsford, sir,” he announced, handing Jack a piece of paper.

Jack unfolded the note and read the Major’s nonsensical warning about ensuring the men didn’t drink too heavily tonight. Let them, Jack thought. “Thank you.” He looked up at the private, who was lingering in front of him, standing stiffly to attention. “Was there something else, Private?”

“Is it true sir?” the young man asked. “Are we going over the top tomorrow?”

“Yes,” Jack confirmed. “Have you got anyone back home?”

“Just my mum and dad, sir,” the private told him. “And a sister.”

Jack looked at the boy standing in front of him. Not a man – a boy. His cheeks were smooth, his voice barely broken and his uniform a size too big. Too young for the army. Jack would guess he wasn’t much more than fifteen years old.

“Write to them,” Jack told him. “Tell them that you love them.”

“Yes sir,” the private said, giving a hasty a salute and hurrying from the room.

Jack turned his attention back to his letter.

_Dear Katarina,_

_There is to be a forward operation tomorrow so I thought I’d write this just in case. I need you to know how sorry I am for all the pain I’ve caused you. I have been the worst of husbands. I’m not asking for forgiveness – I’m not sure I deserve it - but please know that you deserve so much more than I have been able to give you. Remember me without regret and find someone to love who will make you happy. I’m sorry that wasn’t me._

_Your husband,  
Jack_

*

_Cardiff, November 2008_

They hadn’t locked the door to the interrogation room – after all, she wasn’t technically their prisoner – but Katarina had chosen not to leave. As Jack entered with a lunch tray, he found her sitting primly in the chair at the table, hands clasped in front of her, looking for all the world the way she had across the breakfast table that last day in 1916 before Jack left for France. He set the tray down on the table.

“You didn’t send your butler?” she asked archly.

Jack shook his head. “Not this time.”

He hovered for a moment. Katarina inspected the food on the tray but didn’t touch it. The easy option would be to walk out again, shut the door and hope they found a way to send her back to the past as soon as possible. Eventually, Jack sighed, pulled out a chair and sat down opposite her.

“Talk to me,” he said.

She sniffed and looked over at him, chin held proudly high. “I don’t know what to say,” she replied.

“You’d could ask me the question you’re desperate to ask.”

“What question is that?”

“How I’m here.”

“I assume you time travelled, like me.” There was a hysterical edge to Katarina’s laugh. “As if that’s completely normal. I must be going mad.”

“I didn’t,” Jack told her.

“Didn’t what?”

“Time travel,” he clarified.

Her brow furrowed and it almost softened her features. “Then I don’t understand,” she said.

“I lived through it all, Kitty,” Jack revealed, his voice soft and full of pain. “A whole century.”

Katarina regarded him for a long while, her gaze at once sceptical and appalled. “That’s not possible,” she said eventually.

“But time travel is?”

“You would be over a hundred years old.”

Jack smiled sadly. “I am,” he said.

“But how?” she asked quietly.

“I can’t die,” he explained flatly. No matter how many friends and lovers he had this conversation with, it never got any easier.

“All things must die,” Katarina asserted.

Jack shook his head. “Not me.”

Katarina paled. She let out a sob and clapped a hand to her mouth. Jack recognised the anguish in her eyes and felt her pain in his own chest. And he was the cause of it, yet again. He reached out to take her hand but she recoiled in disgust.

“What are you?!” Katarina asked, horrified.


	7. Chapter 7

Gwen swung aimlessly back and forth in her seat, glaring irritably at the necklace lying innocuously on Ianto’s desk. She could still feel it tugging at her senses, tempting her to reach out to it, but now she recognised it, she could fight it. She would like to say that she was helping Ianto but, other than agreeing with him that there were now two of the same necklace in the Hub, conducting a rudimentary search of the Torchwood database and doing a fruitless bit of Googling, she had very little to offer.

Ianto had disappeared with a frown fifteen minutes ago and now he was approaching from the lower levels with a large black box in his arms. Gwen was about to ask him what he’d found, when her phone rang.

“Now’s not a great time Rhys,” she answered abruptly.

“It never is, is it?” Rhys shot back.

Gwen refused to rise to the bait. “Is this urgent?” she asked as she watched Ianto set the box down on his desk and start running his hands over it, searching for a way in.

“I just wanted to know if you’re going to be home for dinner tonight?” Rhys asked.

Gwen sighed. “I don’t know Rhys.”

“You don’t know,” Rhys repeated icily.

“No.” Gwen’s mind was on the box that Ianto had finally opened. “I never know. Why is this so important?”

“You really don’t know?”

“I’m busy Rhys,” Gwen told him. “I don’t need one of your lectures right now.”

“Oh fine,” Rhys snapped. “Fine.” The line hummed as he hung up.

Irritated, Gwen threw her phone to one side and ignored the questioning, slightly worried, look that Ianto shot in her direction. “What’s that?” she asked, nodding at the box.

“It came up on my last search,” Ianto explained. “But I swear it wasn’t there when I searched earlier.”

“Where was it?”

“Really deep in the archives,” he said, lifting the lid carefully off. “I haven’t been down there since…”

He trailed off and Gwen said nothing. She had virtually forgotten about the time when Ianto would have been very familiar with skulking around in the bowels of the Hub.

Ianto lowered the lid onto the desk and they both peered inside. The box was constructed from a dense, dark metal and was thickly lined and padded. Inside, sat an envelope and an emerald necklace.

“Bloody hell,” Gwen swore. “Another one?”

Ianto reached in and plucked the note out of the box. He opened it and frowned.

“What?” Gwen probed.

“It’s addressed to me,” he said, turning the paper round so that Gwen could see the typed note.

“What does it say?” Gwen asked, her energy returning now another piece of the mystery had begun to slot into place.

“Dear Ianto Jones,” Ianto began, clearing his throat. “The necklace in this case is programmed to take Katarina Harkness back to 1916. You need to put the necklace she is wearing into the case and put it back where you found it. I’ll be along to pick it up in 140 years’ time.” Ianto’s frown deepened as he read on. “I’ll pop back in time using a vortex manipulator to put the case in the archives for you to find. Don’t include my note with the necklace – write a new one with instructions for me. We don’t want to add to this bootstrap paradox. You also need to leave me an alert in the Torchwood systems to let me know the case is there.” He looked up at Gwen. “It’s signed: ‘Sasha Marshall. Torchwood. 2148.'” His nose wrinkled. “Ps – say hi to Jack.’”

A silence fell as they contemplated the contents of the note.

“Who the hell is Sasha Marshall?” Gwen asked eventually.

“I know.” Ianto sighed deeply and sunk into his seat. “I don’t just have to worry about exes – I have to worry about… _futures_ as well.”

Gwen raised an eyebrow. “That wasn’t exactly what I was getting at,” she said. “What’s a bootstrap paradox?”

Ianto folded the note and tapped it distractedly against his desk. “A causal loop, when you can’t determine the origin of an event.”

“Oh.” Gwen frowned, turning the new information over in her mind. Her brain was filled with images of multiple emerald necklaces, arrows and dates that became so scrambled she was starting to get a headache. “So…what does this mean?”

“It’s us,” Ianto replied with a shrug. “We close the time loop.”

“Ugh,” Gwen groaned, rubbing at her temples. “This timey-wimey stuff makes my head hurt. How do we close it?”

“This one is programmed to take her back,” Ianto said, pointing in the box, explaining as much for his own sake as for Gwen’s. “The one she is wearing needs to go into the box.” Gwen noticed that Ianto had yet to use Katarina’s name or even call her Jack’s wife. “When she gets back, she needs to lock the time travelling one away.”

“So how does it end up on Penarth seafront?” Gwen asked.

“According to official records,” Ianto noted. “The necklace disappeared in the 1950s.” He picked up the necklace from his desk and let it swing back and forth on its silver chain. He raised an ironic eyebrow. “Current whereabouts unknown.”

*

Katarina stood with remarkable poise and dignity in the middle of the Hub as she unclasped the emerald from around her neck and handed it over to Jack. _When had she ever been without poise or dignity?_ he thought to himself wryly. He held the necklace out behind him without looking and it was taken from his hand. He instinctively knew that it was Ianto. He and Gwen were observing the interaction from a respectful distance. Jack lifted the other – _same_ – necklace from its case and handed it carefully over.

“What will happen, when I get back?” Katarina asked.

“If we’ve got the date right, nothing.” Jack pushed his hands into his pockets, kept his voice flat, concealing the kaleidoscope of emotions spinning within him. “I barely noticed you’d gone. You didn’t tell me anything."

“And the future?” Katarina queried.

“I can’t tell you the future,” Jack told her.

“The war?” she pushed.

“I really can’t tell you.”

“So many young men dying.” Closing her eyes briefly, her mouth set itself in a grim line. She met Jack’s gaze again. “Was it worth it?”

“Is it ever?” Jack remarked bitterly.

A long pause stretched out between them. There were so many things Jack could say, but paltry words, now, after everything, could do nothing to heal the wounds he had inflicted.

Katarina’s lips turned upwards in a mirthless smile as she slipped the silver chain over her head. The emerald glinted in the hollow at the base of her throat. _As beautiful as the day I met her_ , Jack thought.

“Goodbye Jack,” Katarina said. She clasped her hand around the necklace, and disappeared.

Jack stared at the space where she’d been.

“The article’s gone.” Ianto’s voice interrupted his trance.

He turned.

“The article about her going missing’s gone,” Ianto expanded, adjusting his screen so Jack and Gwen could see it.

Jack directed his eyes towards the screen but they burned with heavy, hot tears. He couldn’t let them fall here. Striding towards the door, he heard Gwen call after him, in that outraged tone she seemed to reserve just for him. He ignored her and let the Hub door roll shut behind him.

*

_Penarth, 6 June 1916_

Katarina shielded her eyes and staggered as she felt solid ground beneath her feet again. Familiar scents filled her nostrils - heat fading from the day, soft grass and the twisted yew tree that spread its boughs out across the lawn. She took a deep breath of the cool night air and swallowed down her nausea.

Turning to the house, she saw the lights burning bright and heard the sounds of the party drifting from the open windows.

Composing herself, she crossed the lawn and climbed the steps to the rear entrance. She found her guests in the drawing room, variously playing cards and talking animatedly, and slipped discreetly in amongst them. Jack was sulking by the window and turned to regard her with a frown. She clenched her teeth against the constriction in her throat – seeing him here, looking the same way he had in that dank, nightmare future; knowing what she knew about him now.

He appeared at her side. “Where have you been?” he murmured in her ear, head bowed low against hers, disconcertingly intimate.

“It doesn’t matter,” she muttered back, brushing him off. She gathered her emotions within herself, as she had always been taught to, and approached one of the card tables. “Oh, good show, Lady Hathaway,” she announced brightly, ignoring the sceptical glances that Jack was sending in her direction.

*

Later that night, she lay awake, her mind churning over the events of the past…she wasn’t even sure how many hours. She had travelled in time. She turned her head to examine the emerald necklace lying on her dressing table. One touch and she could transport herself anywhere in time, past or future. Or had she simply dreamt it all?

She heard a noise and looked round to see Jack in the doorway. “Can I come in?” he asked, his tone surprisingly tentative as he half-shielded himself against the doorframe.

She swallowed and rolled her eyes up to the ceiling. “If you like.”

She felt the bed dip as he climbed under the covers beside her. A moment later, his hand found hers and his lips brushed against her cheek, moving down to her neck.

She pulled her hand back and turned her face away. “Not tonight Jack.” She rolled onto her side, her back to him.

Jack slid an arm around her waist and gathered her close, his body hot and stifling against her. “I’m going back to France tomorrow.”

She had no reply for him. Jack could not die. There was no danger for him the war.

“I’m sorry,” Jack whispered, his voice breaking. “I’m sorry I’m such a terrible husband.”

She had never heard him so vulnerable. Still, she could not find the words to comfort him. In any case, was he the one in need of comfort? Silent tears slid down Katarina’s cheeks as Jack held her tighter than he ever had before.


	8. Chapter 8

_Cardiff, November 2008_

“So, we just hope the necklace ends up in Penarth then?” Gwen asked as she re-joined Ianto in the workstation area, footsteps clanging as she descended the steps.

Ianto shrugged, turning around from his computer. “It already has.”

“How would we know if it hadn’t?”

“Time would rupture and it would be the end of everything,” Ianto suggested flatly. Standing up, he absentmindedly began to pluck debris from the coffee table. Gwen flung herself down on the sofa, arms outstretched.

“How are you celebrating?” Ianto asked, hands full of wrappers and disposable cups.

Gwen looked at him, confused. “Huh?”

“Your wedding anniversary?”

Ianto could almost see Gwen’s brain come to a screeching halt. Her eyes went wide. “Shit!” She catapulted herself off the sofa and grabbed her jacket. “Thank you Ianto!” she yelled as she ran towards the door.

“It’s paper for one year!” Ianto called after her.

*

When Gwen burst into the flat forty minutes later, laden with carrier bags, she found Rhys hunched on the sofa with his arms folded irritably across his chest, scowling at the television. He looked up when he heard the door and briefly transferred his scowl to her before returning it to the TV. Somehow, Gwen doubted it was the repeat of QI that had got him so irate.

She crossed the living room and plonked herself down beside him. “Happy Wedding Anniversary!” she announced cheerily, kissing him on the cheek.

He remained unmoved. “You forgot, didn’t you?”

“Noooo….” Gwen started. “Well, yes, but look what I got!” She opened the bags she had dumped at her feet to reveal ingredients freshly acquired at the Tesco Metro down the road. “And first wedding anniversary is paper, so…” She produced a spiral-bound notebook with a flourish. “Happy Anniversary!”

Rhys took it reluctantly. “It’s still got the price on it!”

“I’m sorry,” Gwen pleaded. “I know, I’m rubbish.” She gave him one of her patented pouty, please-forgive-me look.

His mouth began to twitch at the corners. “Alright,” he relented. “I forgive you.” He leant over the arm of the sofa and started hunting around for something on the floor. “Happy Anniversary.” He handed over a surprisingly well-wrapped gift.

Gwen opened presents the way she did most things in life, and tore off the paper in a frenzy. Inside was a hardbound book with ‘Our First Year’ embossed in gold lettering on the front. She opened it and began to flip through the pages. It was filled with photographs of them from the past year. So many memories of this amazing man. Gwen felt a lump forming in her throat. “Oh, Rhys…”

“I’m so proud of you Gwen,” he told her seriously. “I want you to know that. I’m so lucky to have you.”

“I’m luckier.” Gwen could feel her lip wobbling and her eyes beginning to sting.

And, because he was Rhys, and he was incredible, he knew what to do next. “Oh, and because it’s paper…” He reached back over the sofa and chucked something at her. “I got you bog roll, too.”

He laughed as Gwen hurled the toilet roll at his head and leapt on him, muffling his protests with merciless tickling before shutting him up completely with a kiss.

*

With his customary efficiency and attention to detail, Ianto slid the safely-contained necklace into the secure storage in Jack’s office, alongside the similarly-stamped ‘Not For Use’ items that had accumulated over the years. There were certain items that they just couldn’t trust to the main archives. Although Jack hadn’t designated it so, Ianto felt that a necklace with the power to bounce you back and forth across time should probably be included. As he shut the safe door and spun the lock, Jack walked into the room behind him.

Ianto turned to face him, warily trying to gage Jack’s mood. He hadn’t seen Jack since he walked out over an hour ago.

Jack grimaced uncomfortably, shifting his weight onto his heels awkwardly. “Thanks for sorting all this.” He gestured to the safe and sighed. “My head hasn’t really been in the right place.”

Ianto gave one of his practised no-big-deal shrugs. “That’s ok.”

With another sigh, Jack shed his coat and sat down at his desk. He opened a drawer and began rifling through it. Ianto shoved his hands into his pockets and hovered awkwardly, unsure if they were done talking.

Eventually, Jack produced an old tin box, dented and scratched, and mottled with patches of rust. He flipped open the squeaky lid, shuffled through the contents and then held out a photograph.

Ianto stepped closer and took it: a faded, old black and white photograph, curling at the edges. It was Jack, his hair slicked back, looking stiff and unnatural as he sat beside Katarina, expression bland and dressed all in white. Their wedding photo, Ianto realised as he stared into the eyes, frozen in a moment so long ago.

“She knew,” Jack murmured. “She knew I wasn’t really dead.”

Ianto handed the photograph back. Jack studied it, lost in thought. One day, I’ll be a photo in that box, Ianto thought. Would he? Would he make the box? Did Jack even have any photographs of him? He slammed that mental door shut. Now wasn’t the time.

“Nothing you can do about it now, I guess,” he said, knowing his words were pathetically inadequate.

“I left her…and she was…” Jack trailed off.

Ianto perched on the edge of Jack’s desk, hands clasped in his lap. “You didn’t know,” he reassured him.

“She could have found me.” Jack’s eyes still hadn’t left the photograph. “She knew I was alive but she didn’t try and find me.”

*

_France, 1 July 1916_

The air vibrated with the barrage from their artillery. They’d kept it up, on and off, for weeks now, getting heavier every day. Today, it had started at first light, and now the earth around them shook with each booming explosion. For some reason, Jack had always imagined this moment to be silent.

He crouched shoulder to shoulder with his men in the trench as they waited. He kept his eyes on the compacted mud above him; examined in detail each splinter in the ladder he would be climbing. If he looked anywhere else, he would see the fear in the faces around him.

He checked his watch. “Five minutes,” he announced.

No one moved but the ripple of terrified anticipation swept along the trench like a shockwave. Jack swallowed his guilt. He had volunteered to be in the first wave going over the top and the others thought him a hero. Truth was, every other man in this war was far braver than Jack. Jack – a man who couldn’t die, fighting a war he knew he would win, walking out into No Man’s Land just to escape his marriage.

He checked his watch again. 0730. It was time.

His hands seemed numb as he raised his whistle to his lips and blew a shrill blast into the heat of this hellish morning. Echoing whistles sounded along the length of the front line.

And then they were all moving, scrambling up and out of the trenches, as the air suddenly filled with stuttering machine gun fire. Shells pounded overhead, each burst sending up clouds of earth that filled the horizon with dirty mist. Jack hauled himself up and stared in horror at the lines of men marching slowly, hopelessly onwards into the enemy guns. He saw men either side of him jerk and fall back into the trench before they had even cleared the top.

Jack held his rifle poised but did not fire. He walked alongside his platoon, eyes forward, and the last thing he saw as the first bullets ripped through him, was the young private he had spoken to yesterday, stumbling and slumping into the mud.

*

_Penarth, August 2016_

The sonorous jangling of the bell caused Katarina’s pen to jolt across the paper and leave an ink smudge on her letter. She raised her head and peered out of the drawing room window at the front drive but could see no sign of a visitor.

She heard the clank of the bolts as Derry opened the front door.

“Telegram for Mrs Harkness,” came a girl’s voice.

Rising, Katarina went through to the hallway, brushing past Derry to the door. She took the telegram from a girl in an ill-fitting post office uniform. Perhaps it belonged to her brother. So many boys had gone off to fight.

Katarina read the bleak text stamped starkly on the paper.

_REGRET TO INFORM YOU YOUR HUSBAND CAPTAIN JACK HARKNESS KILLED IN ACTION 1ST JULY IN FRANCE._

“Will you be replying ma’am?” the messenger girl enquired.

“No reply,” she replied, her voice calm and detached.

“Thank you, ma’am.” The girl gave a quick bob and returned to her bike.

Katarina watched the messenger pedal up the long gravel drive, through the iron gates and disappear off along the lane back towards Cardiff. Closing the door, Katarina stood in the middle of the hallway, numb.

She rubbed a hand over the gentle swell of her stomach. “We’re on our own now then,” she remarked.

*

_Cardiff, April 1919_

They'd changed the entrance to the Torchwood base again. He’d found the old entrance, down on the wharf, bricked up – rather conspicuously, in Jack’s opinion. Still, it hadn’t taken him too long to find this new way in – from a warehouse tucked away behind Roath Dock.

“Ah, Jack Harkness, the proverbial bad penny,” Gerald greeted him without looking up from his desk, as though he’d been expecting Jack to walk back through the door at any moment. “We thought you were gone for good this time.”

Jack sat himself down in one of the leather armchairs, legs casually crossed. “What would I do on this lousy planet without Torchwood?” he asked flippantly.

Gerald finally looked up; his usual disapproval of Jack’s attitude evident in his raised eyebrow. “Your wife thinks you’re dead by the way,” he informed Jack. “Which I presume you intended?”

Jack swallowed uncomfortably. “It’s better for her this way.”

“She’s remarried, actually,” Gerald told him. “I suppose she had to, with the baby.”

Jack’s heart stopped beating for the briefest of moments. “Baby?”

“It died, though,” Gerald continued, dispassionately. “Only a few months old.”

“She was pregnant?” Jack asked in shock.

“I assumed you knew,” Gerald said, frowning. “Thought that was the reason you ran.”

*

_Cardiff, November 2008_

The rain dripped steadily down through the naked branches of the trees onto the umbrella of the waiting man below. Across the churchyard, a curtain of rain pelted down amongst the gravestones, the bombardment creating a mist that hovered a few inches above the ground.

A man in a black overcoat, collar turned up, came hurrying down the street. “Sorry I’m late.” He shook the man’s hand. “You must be Iwan Griffiths. Ianto Jones. We’ve been emailing.”

“Good to meet you.” Iwan indicated the gate to the graveyard. “It’s this way.”

He led Ianto between the headstones to a far corner, beneath the trees, where grass and ivy and brambles wrapped themselves around the crooked graves.

“Here it is,” Iwan said.

Ianto crouched down, feeling the freezing rain sliding down the back of his neck, and read the weathered inscription on the mossy headstone.

_THOMAS EDWARD HARKNESS_  
b. 5 February 1917  
d. 18 May 1917 

“Was he a relative?” Iwan asked.

“A relative of a friend,” Ianto explained.

He reached out, tracing his finger through the worn engraving, hoping the rain would disguise his tears.

*

_Penarth, April 1919_

The hooves of the bay mare pounded into the soft earth as Jack spurred her on across the open hillside, her thundering gait and the roar of the fresh wind rolling in from the sea filling his ears. Hanging on tightly to the reigns, he leaned down along her lithe neck and felt the power rippling below him. She was a good mount.

He’d managed to keep her stabled whilst he was away fighting but now it was time to sell her. Move on. Gerald was right. Horses needed to make way for the motorcar. He’d gifted himself one last ride and somehow, he’d ended up here. A ride the horse knew as well as he did.

Reaching the brow of the hill, he reigned her in and brought her to a standstill. Straightening in the saddle, Jack turned his eyes down towards the sea. The house stood on the cliffs as though nothing had changed. The same gravel drive, box hedges and the gnarled old yew tree spreading its branches out across the sloping lawns. The house Jack had briefly called home.

It was not his first home and it would not be his last. Time to move on, he thought. With one last backwards glance, he dug his heels into the mare’s flanks and galloped away down the hillside, back to Cardiff.


End file.
